ZELDA RECEIVES A VISITOR
The front door-bell rang--it was an old-fashioned contrivance, on a
wire, and pealed censoriously--and Zelda thrust the book back into the
trunk and ran to the second-floor landing to listen. Polly, the colored
maid-of-all-work, admitted Mrs. Forrest warily, though Mrs. Forrest was
a woman for whom doors were usually flung wide.
“Good morning, Aunt Julia! Welcome to your ancestral home! Come on up!”
Zelda called from the top of the stairs. “Leave the door open, Polly,
so Mrs. Forrest can see the way.”
There was something reluctant and difficult about the Dameron front
door. It swung open so close to the newel post that ingress was
difficult, and when you were once in, the hall was a narrow, dark and
inhospitable place.
“What on earth are you doing, Zee?” demanded Mrs. Forrest, gathering up
her skirts and beginning the ascent.
“I’m cleaning house a little. The steps are rather steep, but it’s
nothing when you get used to it.” Zelda bent over the railing and
contemplated her aunt critically.
“I’m not sure that your clothes will do for these upper regions.”
Zelda looked down commandingly. She had twisted a handkerchief round
her head; a big gingham apron and a dusting cloth in her hand bore
further testimony to her serious intentions.
“I suppose you won’t kiss me in these togs, beloved; it _would_ be
unseemly.”
“My dear Zee, this will never do!” And Mrs. Forrest, having reached the
second floor, surveyed her niece with disapproval.
“Do you mean the clothes?” asked Zelda, putting her hand to her turban.
“I flattered myself that I looked rather well. I’m exploring the
garret. I’m not really doing anything but poke about; and it’s great
fun, raking in the dust of the past--a very remote past, too!”
Mrs. Forrest sniffed contemptuously.
“I’m sure there are stunning antiques up here that beat anything you
ever saw. I’ve only touched the crust. Better come up and look it over.
Oh, Polly,”--the old colored woman lingered below--“you needn’t wait.
It’s around this way, auntie, if you’re rested enough. Those lodgings
we had in Florence last winter were three flights up, and we didn’t
mind a bit. You see, father gave me a basket of old keys and told me to
rummage anywhere I liked. I never expected to find anything so much fun
as this. Take your hand off the rail there, and save your gloves,--I’m
going to dust it soon. And here we are! Don’t the candles give a fine
touch? Lamps up here would be sacrilegious. It’s been swept, and
there’s a place over there on that box where you can sit down without
spoiling your clothes. If you’re very good, I might let you read some
of your old love-letters. There’s a lot of them--”
“Don’t be silly; of course they’re not mine.”
“Some of the gentlemen would probably like to have them back--to read
to their children,” persisted Zelda, who liked to plague her aunt.
“This is a horrible hole, Zee. You must go right down.” Mrs. Forrest
was staring about frowningly.
“I might read a few extracts to help you remember,--”
A trunk stood within the arc of the candle’s flame. It was filled with
old papers and letters, and Zelda flung up the lid to pique her aunt’s
curiosity.
“Don’t trouble! You must burn all these old things. Your grandfather
never destroyed anything, and your mother kept all he left. Old letters
ought never to be kept; they’re dangerous. I’m about settled myself.
I came in to see how you’re getting on, Zee. What kind of a cook have
you?”
Zelda hesitated. “Oh, she’s very good; very good indeed,” she declared
with sudden ardor.
“Black?”
“Yes, black. There isn’t any other kind here, is there? I don’t
remember any other kind,” Zelda added vaguely, as though making an
effort to recall the complexion of domestic service in Mariona.
“The blacks are not inevitable. I have Swedes. You remember, I had our
consul at Stockholm get them for me. Your Uncle Rodney has two Japanese
who do everything. How many of these blacks does your father keep?”
“Well, there’s Aunt Polly,” Zelda answered slowly.
“Is she the slattern that let me in?”
“Yes, but don’t call names; she’s a dear old soul. You mustn’t talk
that way about her. She’s devoted to me.”
“I should think she would be.”
“Thank you, very kindly.” And then, as if recalling the list of
servants with difficulty: “There’s the cook! Did I mention her?”
“What’s she like?”
“A good deal like Polly. Yes, very much like her.”
“Can she cook?”
“Oh yes; well enough. Father’s tastes are very simple; and you know I
never did eat much.”
“I don’t remember anything of the kind. Most of our family are hard to
please.”
“I’ve heard that Uncle Rodney is an epicure. I hope he’ll invite me
down to dinner very soon.”
“It’s possible that he may. His home is perfectly managed; he runs it
like a club; a club is a man’s idea of Heaven, they say: anything, when
you ring; no apologies and no questions asked.”
“It sounds attractive. Just think of being able to command chocolates
by pushing a button!”
“Well, you have a housemaid?”
“Yes; there’s a housemaid.”
“Black?”
“Yes,--a good deal like Polly,” answered Zee, cheerfully.
“What else do you keep?”
“There’s the laundress. She’s like Polly, too,--the same dusky race.
They all look alike to me.”
“They use chemicals,” observed Mrs. Forrest. “All American laundresses
use chemicals. What else?”
“There’s a man. He’s Polly’s grandfather or uncle--something like that.
He’s a general utility, and only comes on call.”
“Better get rid of the whole lot.”
“In time, of course. I’m going to see what I can do with this old
furniture first.”
“You’d better buy what you need new. I never had any patience with
this idea of gathering up old rubbish just because it’s old. And then
there’s the microbe theory; it sounds reasonable and there’s probably a
good deal in it.”
“Horrors! The garret’s probably full. Perhaps there are some in those
love-letters.” Zelda laughed; her mirth was seemingly spontaneous, and
bubbled up irrelevantly.
“If there’s anything of mine up here, for heaven’s sake burn it right
away. And now clean yourself up and come out with me. You must show
yourself or people won’t know you’re in town. And come home to luncheon
with me afterward.”
“I’d like to, Aunt Julia, but I really mustn’t. Father comes home to
luncheon.”
“Oh, he does, does he? Well, he has had a good many meals alone and the
shock wouldn’t kill him.”
“He’s perfectly splendid! He’s just as kind and thoughtful as can be. I
didn’t know that anybody’s father could be so nice.”
Mrs. Forrest rose and swept the garret disapprovingly with her
lorgnette; and there may have been an excess of disapproval that was
meant for something else. Julia Forrest was a woman without sentiment,
for there are such in the world. The lumber-room did not interest her,
and she was anxious to get out into the sunlight. She was too indolent
by nature to have much curiosity: she was not a woman who spent all her
rainy days poring over lavender-scented trifles and weeping over old
letters. She was born in this old house, and she had played as a girl
in the wooded pasture that once lay east of it. Her father’s fields
were now forty-foot lots, through which streets had been cut, and
the houses that had been built up thickly all about were of a formal
urban type. The Merriam homestead was to Julia Forrest merely an old,
shabby and uncomfortable house, whose plumbing was doubtless highly
unsanitary. She had been married there; her father and mother had died
there; but the place meant nothing to her beyond the fact that it was
now her niece’s home. It occurred to her that she ought to see Zelda’s
room, to be sure the girl was comfortable; but Zelda did not invite her
in when they reached the second floor.
“The letters were beautiful; they wrote lovely letters in those days,”
Zelda persisted ironically. “I wish I could have some half as nice.”
“Do get your things, Zee; it’s fine outdoors and the outing will do you
good.”
“I’m very sorry, but I can’t go this morning, _ma tante_. I have a lot
to do. I’ll be freer after a little.”
“You’re foolish, very foolish. When shall I see you, then?”
“I’ll be along late in the afternoon sometime.”
“And then stop to dinner--”
“Very sorry; but father will expect me. It doesn’t seem quite kind to
forsake him--when he’s so nice to me.”
“I suppose not; but bring him along. We’re all an unsociable lot. They
say the Merriams and their connections are queer--I don’t like the
word. Your uncle and I want you to raise the fallen reputation of the
family. Do be conventional, whatever you do.”
“Oh, I shall be that,--commonplace even.”
“Don’t come down in those clothes!” Mrs. Forrest was descending the
stairs.
“All right, Aunt Julia. Good-by!”
When the front door had closed, Zelda sat down on the stairs and
laughed softly to herself.
“Oh, Polly,” she called.
The black woman shuffled slowly into the hall and looked up gravely at
the girl.
“Polly, I wish to see the footman the moment he returns to the house.
And the butler’s work is very unsatisfactory; I shall have to let him
go. And please say to the cook that there will be pie for dinner until
further notice,--apple-pie with cheese. And the peasants,--they will
be received by My Majesty on the lawn at five as usual, and largess
will be distributed. Will you execute these commissions at once, Polly?
Stand not on the order of your going--” She laughed down at the amazed
colored woman and then ran swiftly up stairs.
She did not pause until she reached the candle-lighted table in the
garret and knelt before it, with her face against her mother’s little
book, and sobbed as though her heart would break.